


it's all a game

by tsunderestorm



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyki has a casino full of games, but Allen is in control of theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's all a game

Tyki finds him at the table swindling no-so-honest men out of less-honest money with a perfect poker face. He almost feels bad for them, feels something close to pity for the fact that they aren’t able to see past Allen’s angelic smile and sad, sweet eyes to the aces up his sleeves, the deft flick of his wrist that slides the cards past his cuffs and into his sneaky little hands.

_Almost_.

None of his friends are playing tonight; he has no allegiance to these men. They are rich hedonists with fat pocketbooks; greedy hands and beady little eyes that see everything (but yet nothing). These men he owes nothing to – the idea of seeing them taken for fools by the boy is so fun, so absolutely _delightful_.

“Deal me in,” Tyki says as he swings a chair around backwards, straddling it and lighting a cigarette. He takes a deep drag, eyes never leaving Allen as the fingers of his free hand drum on the felt tabletop.

Allen’s eyes flash dark and Tyki is further enthralled. “You sure you want in?” he asks, all false sweetness with a smile and a shrug as he pulls a pile of poker chips to his side of the table: his reward. The men shake their heads, exchange glances, murmur quietly amongst themselves. One lights a new cigar (for his nerves, Tyki imagines) and it hangs in the air, heavy and hazy. They can beat him, one swears, he’s just a kid with an ego. Tyki’s sharp eyes dart to Allen, who feigns innocence. _I must just be lucky,_ he reasons, knowing he isn’t. He’s cheating, and he’s good.

(There’s no guilt in Allen’s heart: they are every broker come to collect on Cross’ lavish tastes, every mob boss with rings on fat fingers and every back-alley loan financer with more gold teeth than non. He knows them, knows how to push the buttons of fragile egos and walk away with thousands and better yet, he’s good at it.)

Allen surveys the players’ current states. These men, he can beat, if things go his way.

Tyki surveys the table for a moment, too. These men, he could kill, if things went awry.

“Oh, I’m absolutely sure I want in,” Tyki responds as he exhales, adding the subtlest of inflections right where it counts. He blows a smoke ring into the dimness of the room and watches his favorite little gambler go to work. That right there - the devious little quirk of his lips is what Tyki likes, the way his finger flicks the edge of a card in his hand, his tell. He learned it months ago, learned to listen for the way Allen’s fingernail catches on the shiny plastic. It makes a sharp _snap_ noise and the men take it as nervousness, smiles widening. They are wolves narrowing in on prey, they think. Oh, how wrong they are.

“I know you’ve been dying to play with me,” Allen says offhandedly as he shuffles the cards, and Tyki feels for a moment like he might just die.

In the end, Allen wins. He stands up when the game ends, offers a shallow bow to the grumbling gamblers and pours poker chips in a waterfall of tinkling plastic into his pockets. Before Tyki can blink, he disappears into the crowd - how a boy with stark white hair can disappear is beyond him, but he’s mastered it - and leaves Tyki to offer a dumbfounded shrug to the losing players.

 

\--

 

Tyki  finds him again at the blackjack table, eyes trained on the dealer’s hands. Counting, counting, ever so careful - Allen is no genius but he’s clever enough, knows enough to weigh basic probability and take Tyki for all he’s worth. (He has in the past, Tyki thinks; remembers a time when the boy, stupid or brave, had the nerve to look him in the eye and tell him he wasn’t cheating. He remembers later that night in his bedroom, Allen all full of bravado and _want_ , remembers feeling ways under Allen’s hands that he’d never felt before in his life.)

Allen’s teeth dent his lips as he places a bet, gnawing on the skin in concentration when he surveys the table – Tyki imagines them as a two of a kind; partners in crime for high-stakes games with rewards of shiny poker chips that turn to stacks of hundreds. The city lights like stars in Allen’s eyes, his boy’s lips on his as he asks him when they can do it again. Allen would do it, he knows – he’d never hurt anyone but he’s no innocent little lamb and that’s what Tyki _loves_ about him.

Allen says something quiet to the dealer and a card is turned over and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips before he feigns surprise again. _Oh wow_ , he says, _I’m really lucky tonight! I must have a good luck charm somewhere._ Tyki rubs his shoulder, lets his fingers play over scratches from Allen’s nails that are there and god, he swears the way his boy shivers and bites his lip is just for him.

(Later, Tyki knows, he’ll kiss those lips swollen, taste the liquor Allen isn’t old enough to drink and the tang of his own cigarettes, knows he’ll take pleasure in devouring it.)

Allen catches him watching and winks, takes his winnings and slides off of the high stool and disappears again into a crowd of well-dressed gamblers and every nerve in Tyki’s body cries at the distance.

 

\--

 

“Why do you taunt me, boy?” Tyki drawls as Allen rounds the corner and runs straight into him, a surprised little yelp coming out of his throat as he regains his balance. “You know I like playing with you, but why tease me all night?”

He recovers quickly, standing on his tiptoes to snake a hand around the back of Tyki’s neck. He kisses him softly and licks at the corner of his mouth, sighing quietly against the line of his jaw.

“It’s more fun that way,” he says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world, as if Tyki’s fingers haven’t been itching to touch since he first saw Allen at his casino tonight, as if the way he’s worked him up is something to laugh about. His response is a pleased rumble, a quiet purr as Allen's fingers play with a curl at the nape of his neck. “You’re all about fun.”

Tyki steps forward and Allen steps back, thin little body pressed against the elaborate hallway wallpaper and Tyki is so close that Allen can smell him; cologne and nicotine and sweat, familiar and sharp. Tyki takes Allen’s chin between his thumb and finger, tipping his face up and kissing one corner of his lips, then the other, pressing their mouths together softly before his tongue slips between Allen’s lips. He exhales sharply when he pulls back, his other hand up against the wall beside Allen’s head to pin him there. (Not like he’d run.)

“I am,” he agrees, “but not when I haven’t seen you in days and you’d rather flit around my casino like a butterfly than come and see me.”

Allen’s hand that isn’t on Tyki drops the bag of chips he’d been carrying for payout and finds Tyki’s hip, thin fingers hooking through the belt loops of his jeans as he pulls him closer against him, breath hitching a little as he kisses along Tyki’s jaw, up his cheek, lips ghosting over the mole below his eye with a cheeky little lap of his tongue before he murmurs into the shell of his ear. “But don’t you want to catch me?”

“I already caught you, boy,” Tyki all but growls as he turns his head, burying his face in Allen’s tender neck and kissing the thrum of his pulse, faster now than before, steady and sharp against his lips. “Just like you wanted me to.”

Allen smirks like Tyki has unlocked some great secret, kisses like he's terrified of being forgotten and Tyki responds in earnest, returning what Allen gives back to him in full: the bite to his lip, the moan into his mouth. Allen's hands are on Tyki's chest, then low on his belly and on the waistband of his pants; there is the clink of his belt as it's undone, the quiet sound as the leather is slid out from behind the buckle, the harsh sound of the zipper. Allen looks up at him as he arches against him, a perfect curve to his skinny body.

Tyki is sure he'd have Allen right there in the hallway just for the fun of it from the way the boy’s hand is kneading him slowly, stroking him to hardness, but a wayward casino patron rounds the corner and Tyki chokes on the laugh as Allen tries very hard to make it look innocent, thumbs the buttons on Tyki’s shirt like he’s fixing it. He gives the woman a sheepish grin and shrugs, ignoring her disapproving scoff as Tyki leans in closer, pressing his hardness against Allen's hip, breathing "I like this game."

Allen scowls up at him, but there's no venom behind it - his eyes are hazy, lashes heavy on porcelain skin and lips swollen from Tyki's kisses. "S'not a game," he says, hand sliding back to press against the hard line of his cock, heavy and hot against his palm.

"You only say that because I'm winning," Tyki teases, and Allen squeezes just a little too rough, enough to pull a low growl from Tyki's throat.

"Boy -" he hisses, hand snapping from the wall to loose around Allen's throat, thumb resting in the dip between his collarbones. He swallows tentatively, nervously, and Tyki likes it, the shocked, half-scared flash in his eyes, the way he’s back to confident in no time when Tyki’s hand moves back to the wall, palm flat against it. "Don't be nasty."

"We could both win," Allen offers after a moment of careful thought, ducking out from under Tyki's arm and pressing the elevator button, keying in the code to go straight to Tyki's penthouse at the top of the building. "Catch me,” he challenges as the doors slide closed.

Tyki almost forgets to zip his pants back up.

 

\--

 

Tyki finds Allen in his bed, the face of an angel with downy-soft wings and the mind of a devil, a delightful contradiction, everything he never knew he wanted and then more.

(One minute Allen is sweet, needy - something close to innocent if Tyki didn’t know better – he catches the gleam in his eyes when Tyki shrugs out of his shirt and steps out of tight leather pants, crosses the few steps to the bed with his cock leading the way and climbs on top of him.)

“Play with me,” he whines, arms up over his head and clutching a pillow, pinned easily by Tyki’s hand around slender wrists.

“Anything for you,” Tyki obliges as he grinds down against Allen’s hip, knowing he could probably come like this - rutting against Allen in desperation and he knows he should be embarrassed but he just _isn’t_ because it’s Allen, it’s his boy, it’s the only person he’s ever wanted this with.

(The next minute, Allen is a demanding little thing; sure of what he wants and unafraid to order Tyki to do it even though he’s small and slight under him, even though Tyki’s grip is strong around his wrists against the cool wood of the headboard.)

“Don’t tease me,” Allen gasps when Tyki’s fingers tease up his cock, circling around the tip and collecting the precum there, bringing his fingertip to his lips to lick it clean with a lewd slurp, eyes locked with Allen’s.

“Or what?”

Allen’s thighs are already splayed wide open, one leg already hooked around Tyki’s waist, foot at the small of his back urging him closer still, more, _fuck me_.

They’re nowhere near that, yet. Tyki releases Allen’s wrists and the boy’s hands fly to his shoulders, nails dull enough to not truly _hurt_ but sharp enough so that Tyki could retrace the path they take if he asked.

“I ought to make you wait,” Tyki muses as he bends Allen’s skinny leg over his shoulder, runs fingernails up the back of his thigh just to see him _shake_ before he’s reaching into the bedside table drawer for lube. For the briefest moment, Allen looks heartbroken, scared, _desperate_ and Tyki is ashamed of how much he likes that, of how much he wants Allen to need him. “A little wait, a bit of pain...don’t you think that will make the pleasure more in the end?”

(It’s an empty threat and they both know it. Tyki has no willpower when it comes to Allen and there’s no way he can resist him, not when the brush of Allen’s fingers up his cock is enough to send shivers down his spine, when just the sight of Allen’s smooth, pale thighs makes his cock twitch in anticipation, when he’s never wanted anyone or anything as bad as he wants Allen Walker in times like these.)

Allen humors him. He shakes his head, _no_ , his hair a halo of feathery white on the dark pillowcase.

“No Tyki, I want it now.”

He tips his head and closes his eyes, like he’s praying to some God or another for mercy, not a thick cock in his ass. Tyki laughs low, enjoys the thought of what a good boy Allen’s friends must think he is as he slicks up his fingers, relishes in the thought that people think Allen Walker could _ever_ be any sort of blushing virgin as he pushes two fingers inside of him.

(The boy has never been a blushing virgin, not that Tyki’s known. He supposes once, years ago – maybe – but not now. He calls the shots – he’s the one pushing down against Tyki’s fingers as they stretch him open, the one arching up to drag Tyki’s face down to his own, kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t as he tells him in between kisses that he wants more, it’s not enough.)

Tyki groans when he pushes in, low and heavy as it hangs in the air, mixing with the quiet, hoarse little gasp that squeaks out of Allen’s throat. Tyki focuses on Allen’s hair stuck to his damp forehead, the furrow in his brows, the smooth raised skin of the star-shaped scar on his face. Normal things, harmless things – he can’t think about how hard Allen’s cock is as it brushes against his stomach, how tight and hot he is around him, his rosy nipples on milk-pale chest. Those things are too much; they are too good at pushing him too close to the edge too fast along with the way Allen tenses around him and knows full damn well what he’s doing. 

There’s a rhythm to Allen’s hips that Tyki has memorized; something all at once deliberate and erratic, a sort of practiced imperfection. Tyki doesn’t know where he learned it but he decided months ago that he doesn’t care. There’s another side to Allen in moments like these, a side that’s raw and unfiltered and poorly behaved and Tyki is drunk on the contradiction of it all. He gets off on the darker parts of Allen, the parts of his boy that don’t mind when he’s a little too rough, the parts that are hungry and desperate. He’s foul-mouthed and Tyki likes it, likes the way that _fuck me_ rolls so smoothly off of his devil’s tongue past angel-soft lips.

( _Need me_ – it’s unspoken, another one of Allen’s little contradictions; how he hates to demand things from people but wants to be worth something to somebody.)

He calls Tyki _baby_ one minute, snarls out an insult the next – it’s a constant back and forth, good-natured teasing – nothing but what they’re used to, whetting the blades of their tongues and sharpening teeth at the same time their lips are swollen from kissing as Tyki’s fucking him down into the mattress. He tells him _don’t stop_ and Tyki doesn’t know how he ever could, tells him _destroy me_ and Tyki knows his boy will be the death of him.

 

\--

 

Allen’s voice is hoarse when they’re done, a whispered repetition of Tyki’s name as he settles back against the pillows, breath still quick and short. He pushes damp curls back from Tyki’s forehead and curls one around the index finger of his left hand, twirling it with a smirk.

“Don’t be so smug, boy,” Tyki says as he turns his head to kiss the tips of Allen’s shaking fingers. “I won’t forget how you begged for it.”

Allen jerks his hand away and scowls. “Well, I won’t forget how you almost lost it the moment you put it in.”

Tyki laughs as he lowers himself to his elbows, face pressed into Allen’s collar. He nips playfully at his shoulder, tracing the line of one of the black arrows with his tongue. “Don’t be nasty.”

“I’m not nasty…” Allen mumbles with a yawn. “You’re heavy, off!”

Tyki blows a very loud raspberry into Allen’s bicep, ignoring his yelp as he steadies a hand on Allen’s hip, pulling out slowly so he doesn’t hurt him. Allen is a mess all covered in sweat and cum and Tyki likes him that way, likes the way he looks and smells and feels. 

“I’ll only get off of you if you admit that I won,” Tyki says, but he’s rolling off of him anyway, flopping down next to him and ignoring a spot of cum on the bedsheets that will undoubtedly feel less than pleasant when the moment wears off and their bodies cool down (he just can’t bring himself to care right now) in favor of spooning up behind Allen. 

“Never,” Allen says only when Tyki is already comfortable against him, when his lover’s lips are at the nape of his neck and his legs are tangled with Allen’s.

 


End file.
